Guest column: Where customer's always treated like No. 1

Posted: Friday, June 03, 2005

By Doug Wyatt

Do you remember a time when "customer service" really meant something, when consumers were actually treated with respect?

I don't either.

These days, for sure, the buying public seems to rank, in the eyes of mega-corporate America, somewhere down near plankton. Purchasing a major appliance? You really need to buy that four-year extended warranty. In case, you know, we've built another piece of junk that starts to smoke and hiss after six months. Need it fixed? Call our special hotline, where we'll put you on hold for 45 minutes while the Hollywood Strings play Def Leppard's greatest hits (and we periodically remind you that "your call is very important to us").

Then maybe, just maybe, the company will come out and take a look at your problem (and you'll hear "we need a new part from our distribution center in Kuala Lumpur. It should be here by Christmas").

Not that it's that easy to get anyone to your home. In a better world, the repair person would agree to arrive at, say, 2 p.m. on Monday, then would show up at the appointed time. In bleaker reality, you're promised a visit "between noon and 5." Which means (1) you're stuck at home all afternoon, terrified to run down to the drugstore for five minutes lest you miss the person, and (2) someone eventually shows up at 4:59, at the same time as a Jehovah's Witness and some guy trying to peddle vinyl siding.

If you're lucky.

A while back, my "high-speed" Internet connection suddenly started to falter and sputter, sometimes racing along, more often crawling. I called my Internet service provider (ISP). After a pleasant wait on the phone ("push 1 to return to the previous menu, 2 if your hair is whiter than when you began this call"), I agreed to a repair rendezvous between, you bet, "noon and 5."

On the appointed day, a fellow showed up. He fiddled with a few wires, pronounced the connection sea-worthy and left. A few hours later, it jammed up again. Fortunately (or so I thought), he had left a card with his supervisor's number on it, advising me to call if I had any more troubles.

I called the number and left a message.

A day passed. No reply.

I called again. Nothing.

I left town for a few days. When I returned, I called again.

Nope.

Exasperated, I called the old number, again endured the menu options, and arranged for a return visit, again "between noon and 5." The day wasn't really convenient - I had to rearrange a few appointments - but I was keen to have the problem fixed.

That day I waited. And waited. A friend called, asking if I could help him get his car started. I apologetically explained that I couldn't. Hours passed. Five o'clock passed. No one showed.

I went out that evening. The next morning, I called my ISP again. A woman there - once I finally got through - told me their records of the appointment showed "no contact."

"Maybe he showed up later,'' she said. "I guess."

"Can someone come today?"

"We'll be there,'' she said. She paused a moment. "Between noon and 5."

I rushed around town, completing a few errands, postponing others. Well before noon, I was home waiting.

And waiting. By 3 p.m. I had a homicidal gleam in my eye. By 4 p.m. I was frothing at the mouth. When 5 o'clock came and went ... remember Linda Blair in "The Exorcist?" I retired to the bedroom, my wife applying cold compresses to my forehead.

The next morning, I ran to the bank for a few minutes. A message from my ISP was waiting when I returned: "We came by but you weren't here. You need to reschedule your appointment."

I have a modest proposal for the company. I spent two days, five hours each, waiting for you. What's that time worth? Let's say $20 per hour (surely conservative these days). You owe me $200.

I'll even come by and pick up the check. Just be on the lookout for a man with fire in his eyes and black deeds lurking in his heart, ready to bite off the head of anyone who crosses him.